


Piccolo

by Swashbuckler



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Affection, Affectionate Insults, Banter, Cake, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Disabled Character, Champagne, Deaf Character, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Party, Protective Siblings, Sibling Love, Sign Language, Stimming, The Rogues (DCU) As Family, Traditions, Wedding Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swashbuckler/pseuds/Swashbuckler
Summary: “Hey, Piper,” Len said loudly to the Rogues, nudging Hartley. “Don't you have a baby sister?”Hartley nodded, sipping his champagne. "Uh huh - I brought her with me, why?"Len grinned at him. "Because she just caught the bouquet."





	1. Tiger Lilies

“C’mon, c’mon, throw the bouquet!” cheered Dinah.

“Someone’s hopeful!” Hal cackled, shoving Oliver’s shoulder as the crowd laughed loudly. Oliver just turned his head, raising an eyebrow at Hal as he reached for Dinah, wrapping an arm around her waist. With one smooth movement, the Green Arrow pulled the Black Canary round, dipped her in his arms- and was promptly beaten into initiating the kiss by the vigilante herself dragging him in. Hal spluttered out a surprised laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender as the crowd cheered. 

“Okay, okay, you’re both hopeful!” he conceded. 

“Oi, you two!” Linda called down from the balcony she and Wally were stood on, looking down over the party of guests. “Stop stealing our thunder!”

A smug voice from the crowd responded. “Sorry, what was that?” 

“Oh, shove off, Mark!” Wally retorted with a wide smile, waving him off to more laughter. He grinned at Linda. 

“You ready?” 

“Yeah.”

Wally tilted his head to the side, stepping in front of Linda. “You sure? You look worried, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, I’m fine,” Linda smiled, “I’m safe out of the way up here.” She then wiggled the bouquet in her hand. “Just everyone else won’t be once I throw this.” 

Wally snorted. “Oh c’mon, it’ll be fine! It’s tradition! It’s not like there’s gonna be a riot!”

“Are you sure about that?” Linda asked, glancing behind her to their wedding guests. “Your Rogues are here, remember.” 

“They’re behaving!” Wally insisted, spreading his hands wide. “C’mon, they were lovely before and during the reception, and they’ll never risk getting booted from somewhere with free food! If only Uncle Barry had known that trick when he went up against them,” he teased. “Linda, it'll be fine! Most of them are reformed now anyway and there’s only gonna be one Rogue chasing that bouquet,” he wheedled with a sheepish smile.

Linda quirked an eyebrow at him. "That's the one I'm worried about," she said, lips twitching in a wry smile.

Wally gave a little shrug and kissed Linda’s cheek. Then he kissed her on the lips. And did it again, and again, the pair of them dissolving into giggles. “I dunno,” he sighed dreamily, resting his forehead against Linda’s, “it’s not like she’s gonna decimate everyone to catch it. I mean, c’mon, she isn’t even wearing her skates.” 

Linda gave Wally disbelieving look as he took a step back out of her way. “Wally, this is _Lisa Snart_ we’re talking about. Do you really think--” and in one fell swoop, she tossed the bouquet behind her over the edge of the balcony, whipping around to see where it landed, Wally zipping to her side, “--she’d need them?” 

There was a collective, excited scream from the crowd below as the bouquet arced through the air over a horde of eager hands reaching to grab it. In the scramble to grab the flowers, they were knocked out of sight into the mass of excited guests. 

“Who caught it? Did someone catch it?” 

“If no one has, dibs!”

“Where’d it go?” 

“Hey!” 

The crowd parted as one of Linda’s friends pointed to a young woman in the crowd cradling the bouquet in her hands. “She has it!” she called up. 

It was at this point that the events of the party caught the attention of Leonard Snart; the Rogue had been otherwise disinterested in the bouquet - after all, if Lisa caught it, he’d soon know. He just recognised the tradition for what it was, and that was keeping them from the buffet. 

He frowned at the young woman the crowd was cheering and applauding; the young woman herself was staring at the bouquet. To the crowd, in their delight, it must’ve looked like she was admiring the flowers, but Len could easily read the nervous tension across her bare shoulders that suggested she was avidly trying to avoid looking at the people who had all their attention unwaveringly fixed on her. 

_She looks familiar,_ Len thought to himself, tilting his head to the side. From the softness of her face, she couldn’t have been any older than Lisa - mid twenties, maybe. She wasn’t particularly tall. She was wearing a strapless dress in a delicate pastel shade of green that made her red hair burn in contrast to her pale skin, and to say she was covered in freckles would have been an immense understatement: sun-kissed stars spread over her cheeks and down her neck and over her shoulders and arms until she was overwhelmed by them. He was about to ask Mick if he recognised the young lady, when it clicked.

Red hair. Freckles. _Green._

_Like it could be anyone else,_ Len grinned to himself.

“Hey, Piper,” Len said loudly to the Rogues, nudging Hartley. “Don't you have a baby sister?” 

Hartley nodded, sipping his champagne. "Uh huh - I brought her with me, why?" 

Len grinned at him. "Because she just caught the bouquet." 

_“What?!”_ Hartley spluttered as he whipped around, Mick thumping him on the back as he choked on his champagne. 

“Dibs first dance,” Mark grinned, whistling as Wally and Linda kissed up on the balcony. “C’mon, garter next!” he roared.


	2. Rathaways

“Since _when_ did you have a baby sister?” Lisa asked, delighted to corner Piper as the Rogues took their seats at their designated table.

“Since I got kicked out and my parents still wanted an heir to the family company,” Piper said, leaning one hand on the back of Len’s chair, "hence the age gap." 

“When were you kicked out again?” Mark asked casually, rocking back in his chair, twirling Linda’s garter around his finger. 

“Subtle,” muttered Roscoe. 

“Jerrie’s twenty-four, Mark,” Piper sighed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think it needs saying that if you upset Jerrie in any way-” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll reenact _‘Willard’_ on me,” Mark snorted, waving a hand, although the other Rogues didn’t miss the way he shifted in his seat and he stopped playing with Linda’s garter, tucking it in the pocket of his slacks. Piper smiled. 

“Exactly,” he said sweetly. 

Lisa just looked peeved, content to sulk and pout at the Piper as she settled herself comfortably on Roscoe’s lap. “Piper,” she whined reproachfully, “all this time there was another girl I could’ve played with and you didn’t tell me? You’ve left me outnumbered by all these boys for all these years.” 

Hartley gave her a derisive look. “Mmm, never heard you complain before,” he mused wryly. Lisa smirked at him, leaning back into Roscoe’s embrace and kissing his cheek. “I somehow doubt you’d’ve wanted to share the boys’ attention.” 

Lisa snorted. “As if I’d ever have competition,” she said, preening. “No offence to your sister,” she added gently after a pause. Piper waved it away. 

“While I can’t guarantee the boys haven’t already noticed she’s _female_ ,” Piper started, giving the group - and especially Mark (who raised his hands, a look of pure innocence across his face) - a pointed look, “Jerrie’s not as fond of attention as you are. She gets stressed around people.”

“Is that why she looked ready to crack after she caught the bouquet?” Len asked, craning his neck to look at the man behind him who nodded. “So, wait, where’s she now?” 

“In the garden,” Piper said, nodding to the open french doors of the ballroom. “She’ll have gone outside to calm down.” When the others gave him a mix of concerned looks, Piper reassured them. "I know my sister, she just needs some space."

Across from him, Roscoe waved a hand to catch Piper’s eye. “Asperger’s?” he asked. Piper clicked his fingers and pointed to him, nodding. 

“Yup.”

“Anything we should make sure to avoid? Sounds, touching?” 

Piper pursed his lips and tilted his head from side to side. “She’s not big on eye contact - we’ve already mentioned the staring thing…” He scratched his head. “Loud noises… Just- just don’t be too surprised if she needs some space, okay?” 

Mick nodded, patting Piper’s shoulder before taking his seat beside Len. “Got it, mate.” 

“Thank you, Mick.” 

“So, hold up,” James said, leaning forward, chin in his hand and a wide smile across his boyish features, “Jerrie’s your baby sister, and she’s twenty-four?” 

“Where is this going?” Piper asked, frowning at James. 

“So, if Jerrie’s twenty-four and you were kicked out when you were how old~?” continued James. 

Piper flushed scarlet, mumbling something as he scratched his nose.

“What was that?” laughed Lisa. 

“Sixteen,” he said meekly. 

“HA! ‘Thirty-plus’ my ***!” James cackled, pointing at him. “You’ve hit _for-!_ ”

“Oh, look, the speeches are about to start!” Piper said hurriedly, dashing off to take his seat beside Wally at the head table, leaving the Rogues sniggering behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering about the 'Willard' reference - it's a horror film involving very obedient rats which sums up nicely why it's a good thing Piper's a Central City Rogue and not a _Gotham_ rogue.


	3. Garden Party of One

Soft breezes ruffled the trees all around the garden and curled around pale legs as Jerrie threaded cool grass between her bare toes. Everything was so much better out here than in the courtyard. No more crowds, no more crowds and everyone staring, all so close, too close. 

She’d found an elegant bench tucked out of sight from the tall windows of the ballroom behind a bush brimming with pink blossom. She couldn’t be watched here. 

The bouquet had been a nice surprise. She hadn’t meant to catch it, but after getting caught up in the crowd of excitement women, it had just sort of happened. And then they’d started to stare. And clap. And point. 

The flowers had been bound with several strips of gold satin ribbon, one of which Jerrie was now looping through her fingers, the silken texture soothing away the agitated buzz that had arisen before. That was nice. 

Peaceful. The garden was peaceful. Until a sudden cheer from the wedding party inside that made her jump, and Jerrie began to worry the ribbon between her fingers again. She screwed up her eyes, breathing through her nose as she tugged at the strip of ribbon, thumbs sliding over the satin until the tight agitation along her arms and in her chest and in her head began to unravel.

As everything began to soften again, cheers fading to soft laughter and chatter, she caught the sound of someone padding across the grass towards her. They stopped the other side of the blossom bush, and a wonderful voice with its familiar slur around the edges made her smile. 

“The speeches are all over now,” Piper called gently through the flowers. “That means the food and dancing’s going to start, if you want to join in.” Jerrie smiled widely at the lawn.

“Are you going to dance?” 

“Oh, I’m sure Linda will ambush me at some point today, and who would I be to say no?” he laughed. Jerrie stood up and peered around the edge of the bush. Hartley was stood patiently waiting for her to come out, admiring the flowers of the garden. When he caught sight of her watching him, he smiled and tilted his head to the side. Jerrie nodded, stepping aside to let him come round, and they both sat down on the bench. 

“I caught the bouquet.” 

“So I heard,” Hartley said, looking impressed. “Nice catch.” 

Jerrie hummed her assent, eyes still fixed on the bunch of flowers in her hands; she was running the pads of her fingertips around the edges of white roses, following the swirl of the petals into the centre of one flower and then out again. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Hartley shrugged. “Not a bad thing. Perhaps it was for the best - Roscoe would never have heard the end of it if Lisa had caught-” He paused, frowning. “No, no,” he corrected himself, “ _Len_ would never have heard the end of it from _Roscoe_ if Lisa caught it. Lisa and Roscoe are as bad as each other when it comes to...well, each other,” he settled on absently. 

“I don’t have anyone to marry, is that a problem?” Jerrie asked idly, thumb tracing over the lilacs frothing up between silken petals. 

“I think the tradition is just a tradition now,” Hartley said, waving a hand. “Not something to put too much stake in anymore.”

“Oh,” Jerrie said, then smiled. “Good.” She looked up towards the house holding the wedding party that towered above them at the end of the expansive garden. 

“How did Wally and Linda get to have their wedding at Wayne Manor?” Jerrie asked, admiring the grand house. 

“Oh,” Piper said, eyeing the mansion with amusement, “I have my guesses." He gestured to the house. "Shall we? Hang on, where are your-? Ah.” Hartley bent down to scoop Jerrie’s shoes out of a puddle of pink blossom pooled on the lawn beside the bench. 

“I don’t like the heels,” Jerrie said plainly she stood up. Hartley shrugged.

“Then don’t wear them. Simple.” 

“Mother said I had to.” Hartley sighed through his nose and fought valiantly the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, and mother and father also told you you weren’t allowed to learn music, and told your Deaf brother that he wasn’t allowed to learn to sign, and how did that work out?” Hartley said dryly. 

Jerrie smiled widely at him. “You’re teaching me to play piano _and_ to sign.” 

“Exactly,” Hartley said, raising his hand reflexively toward her cheek, then catching himself and instead pointing next to her face. “Stray hair.” 

Jerrie raised her eyebrows, then fondled the stray strand of hair that had escaped her plait with a frown, tucking in behind her ear as they made their way back up across the lawn. “Thank you, Hartley.” 

“Any time, honey.”


	4. Guest and Gift List Negotiations

“James, you can’t live off sugar!” barked Len, glaring at James as he returned from the buffet line with a plate of cupcakes that definitely _weren’t_ for the table. James swiped his index finger through thick, gold-dusted buttercream and made a show of sucking it off his finger while faking an expression of deep contemplation. 

“Hmmm,” he hummed, pulling his finger from his mouth with a ‘pop’ and pointing it at Len, “watch me.” With that, he dropped into one of the seats at the Rogues’ table.

“Least it’s not caffeine,” muttered Mick to his best friend over the captain’s shoulder. Len groaned. 

“Don’t,” growled Cold, holding up a warning finger. “We’re not reliving that day ever. _Ever._ ” Mick could see Len’s eye twitching at the memory. 

“Alright, alright,” Mick said quickly, voice a soothing rumble as he gave Len’s shoulder an awkward pat and encouraged him to his feet and toward the buffet. “Let’s get you a drink, buddy.”

James took a large bite of cake, wiggling his fingers in a playful little wave at Len and Mick’s retreating backs. Swiping the frosting smeared across his upper lip with his tongue, the Trickster sat content to jiggle his foot beneath the table to the beat of the band playing quietly in the background as people chatted and laughed and helped themselves to the extensive buffet. He licked his sticky fingers clean after his second cake and was just unwrapping his third when a shadow falling across his plate made him stop, cake halfway to his mouth.

“You’re not honestly going to eat all of those yourself, are you?” came the dry drawl from behind him. James gave a coy shrug, not looking round. 

“Why, do you want one?” he asked innocently, holding up the cake he’d been about to bite into to receive a scoff in response. Roscoe moved around the table and set his own plate down opposite James, eyeing the plate of treats in front of the Trickster with distaste. 

“I prefer to actually look after my body,” he sneered. James wrinkled his nose.

“You say ‘looking after your body’, I hear ‘torture it with superfoods and whole-grains or forget to eat for days on end with no in between’,” James said, giving Roscoe a forced thumbs up, “sounds real healthy to me!”

“Just because I get absorbed in my work,” snapped Roscoe. 

“Exactly, you put too much thought into it all,” James said, waving a hand. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to _unwind_ for a change,” he teased.

“Ha ha,” Roscoe drawled, biting into a savoury pastry. James eyed the morsel with an approving nod, toasting his choice with his cupcake before biting into it. 

“Trea’ing ‘ourself won’ kill you, you know,” James continued conversationally through a mouthful of cake. "I know a 'ot o' things ha', but cake won'." Roscoe blinked and wrinkled his nose, picking up his knife and fork. 

“James, remember that we didn’t invite Digger along for a many multitude of reasons - one of those being his table manners. Don’t act as his stand-in.” The Top frowned at his plate as a loud raspberry was blown at him. Taking a slow breath, he closed his eyes for a moment, then returned to cutting his food. 

“Hey, we didn’t invite Digger because he was bound to hit on half the League ladies and get us thrown out,” James said defensively. “Literally,” he added, pointing at Roscoe, miming throwing a rugby ball. 

“That and he’d get drunk.” 

“Roscoe, you know those aren’t two separate points,” James sighed. Roscoe’s lips quirked in a tiny smile. 

“No, but they are self-fulfillingly cyclical. After all, what goes around…” 

James nodded, giggling to himself. “Explains Owen~” 

Roscoe's knife and fork were set down with a clatter as the Top gave James the most disbelieving look the Trickster had ever seen. “James,” Roscoe said seriously, “taking Digger into full consideration, _nothing_ explains Owen.” James winced, smile turned wry.

“Ehhhh, you got me there. How Digs managed to have a kid that could pass as a model I’ll never know. Wait. No. Scratch that. How Digs managed to have a _kid_ I'll never know!” he added with a grimace. 

“That knowledge escapes the best of us,” muttered Roscoe, picking up his cutlery again. 

“Hang on, why didn’t we just bring Owen instead then? Fulfil our Boomerang quota another way?” James asked, hands spread wide, boyish incredulity withering under Roscoe’s dark smile. 

“Because there’s a particular family banned on the guest list, James,” Roscoe said slowly. 

“Didn’t think Digger’s ever done anything that bad,” murmured James. Roscoe’s sly smile only widened. 

“That's the thing, James," Roscoe said as he returned his attention to his food, "I wasn’t talking about _that_ side of the family.” 

* * *

“Thanks for behaving, guys,” Wally laughed breathlessly as he joined Len and Mick at the buffet line.

“Least we could do - it’s your wedding day,” Mick waved him off. 

“That’s our way of saying we didn’t get you a real present,” Len added with a grunt. 

“Aww, you jerks,” grinned Wally. “All in your style, I suppose.” 

“You’d tell us off for getting you a present anyway!” sneered Len. “You’d accuse us of stealing it!”

“Well, yeah!” Wally said. “Wait, wouldn’t you?” he asked curiously.

Len just gave him a big smile and Wally’s hopeful expression dropped in an instant to one of disapproval. Wally shook his head, lips pursed as he ladled his plate with food. 

“Jerks.” 

“Professional,” agreed Len, stealing the tongs for the fish right before Wally could grab them.

“Nice spread you got here,” Mick rumbled, nodding at the parade of tables stacked with food. “Not all for you, is it?” 

“I mean, there had to be a morsel or two,” Wally wiggled a spring roll at Mick, “left for the League, ya know?” Mick gave him a toothy smile. 

“Hope you’ve got enough cake to follow up dinner.”

“That’s if James hasn’t scoffed the lot already,” growled Len. “I don’t care if it’s your wedding and how nice we’re being, if ‘e starts bouncing off the walls in a sugar high I’m freezing his ***.” 

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing if you did,” Wally muttered out of the corner of his mouth and Len sniggered. “In fact, as it’s my wedding and you haven’t gotten us a present, you know what would be really great if you did do-” 

“You say anything about me reforming and I'm ditching what I just said and getting James to start a food fight with the League.” 

Wally pouted, eyes wide and pleading. “...What if you just reformed for two months while me and Linda are on our honeymoon?”

Len scowled. 

“...Fine.”

“Awww, you _do_ care!”


	5. Rogue Routine

“I thought we promised no weapons at the wedding.”

Mark raised his eyebrows at Len. The Weather Wizard sipped his wine, taking his sweet time before answering.

“I have no idea what you’re-”

“BS,” Len said, jerking his thumb toward the garden that was positively glowing in sunlight. Mark just blinked slowly at Len and gave a tiny, innocent shrug. 

“Where’s the wand, Wiz?” Mick asked pointedly as Len grit his teeth. 

“I don’t have it,” Mark shrugged casually.

“Liar,” Roscoe said without looking up from his plate.

“Then how do you explain catching Linda’s garter?” pressed Lisa with a knowing smile. Mark just smirked at her over the rim of his wineglass.

“Pure skill, my dear.”

“Suuuure, Linda’s garter just _magically_ flew into your hand _coincidentally_ ,” drawled James, chin in his hand. “No weather wind tricks involved _at allllllll._ ” 

“Oof, someone’s jealous,” tittered Mark. “All these accusations - they’d never stand up in a court of law.”

“In this city? Ha!” James sniggered. “This is the only place where it wouldn’t just stand up in a court of law, but start doing cartwheels for your prosecution!” Mark rolled his eyes as he kicked back in his chair, rocking it lazily with his toes. 

“Even if I did have my wand with me, what are you going to do? Get Wally to cuff me for making it sunny? On his-” Mark gasped in mock horror, “ _-wedding day?_ ” Mark shook his head and drained his wine glass, setting it down on the table. “I’m not about to ruin their wedding - consider a clear sky my gift to them.” 

“Slash insurance you don’t get kicked out?” Lisa asked with a purr. Mark winked at her. 

“Well we wouldn’t want anything putting a damper on the reception, now would we?~”

Len closed his eyes, inhaling sharply through his nose before rounding on the others. “Alright, who else? Who else brought their gear with them?” he asked, words biting. The Rogues shared a confused look between them. 

“Don’t have my gun,” grunted Mick.

“Good.”

“No skates~”

“Saw that- you?” Len pointed at Roscoe. Roscoe forced a smile.

“I’m clean.” 

“Better be,” Len muttered. “James?” 

“All the confetti I have on me is harmless~”

“Goo- wait.” Len’s squinted at James. “ _‘Harmless’_ isn’t the same as _‘normal’_.”

“How about that,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes at the Captain who growled. 

“I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“Why so safety-conscious, Lenny?” Lisa asked, spreading cream cheese on a cracker. Len scratched his head, glaring at the table. 

“Nothing, just-”

“Just what?” Lisa pressed, neatly adding a slice of smoked salmon to her cracker and taking a bite. 

“Just-” Len huffed, scrubbing the back of his head in irritation. He scowled at the table, as if hoping for it to concede and provide him an alibi, to no avail. “Look,” he sighed eventually, “I want Wally and Linda to have a good day, okay? They deserve it.” When all the Rogues crooned at him, he flipped them the finger and their fawning broke out into laughter.

“Aww, you big softie, Lenny,” Lisa cooed as her brother went red.

“Shut it, Lis’.” 

“Never,” she said, blowing him a kiss, which he rolled his eyes at, _not_ smiling.

“Deserve it for what, kicking our butts day and night?” Mark scoffed. 

“We got invited, didn’t we? Be more grateful,” snapped Len. 

“Probably because they knew we’d crash it and turn up anyway if they didn’t,” mused Roscoe. “At least this way it guaranteed we’d turn up adhering to the dress code at the very least.” 

“Man’s got a point,” James agreed. 

“You reformed, you’d get invited!” Mark said indignantly. “Don’t know what you’re siding with him for! Plus, I’m pretty sure you’d be their greatest concern regarding wedding attire, that’s probably why their invited us all. Couldn’t bear the thought of a wedding guest in stripy jammies.”

“Hey, that’s an insult to our wonderful tailor!” James said, offended. “My suit is far more sophisticated than jammies!”

"Doesn't look it!"

“Don’t blame Gambi, Mark, he was working off James’ notes,” Lisa said dryly, sipping her champagne. “Plus, he made Linda’s wedding dress and you saw how gorgeous that was.”

“Did he?” Mick asked cheerfully. “Didn’t know Gambi made civilian clothes.” 

“Gambi has other clients than us, you know,” Len muttered, swirling his wine around his glass. He sniffed. “We’re just his favourites.” 

“All the bead work and the gold detailing in the embroidery,” Lisa sighed wistfully, “it’s so beautiful.” Her eyes glazed over as she stared off into space. Roscoe just smiled, stroking her hair over one shoulder and dropping a kiss to her neck. 

“Still with us, my love?”

“Mm? Yeah, yeah,” Lisa mumbled, shaking off her reverie and leaning in for a kiss.

“If you’re going to do that, at least make use of the nice weather I’ve made and go snog in the shrubbery or something where we can’t see you,” Mark muttered, pouring himself more wine. 

“Who’s jealous now?~” James teased. 

“Aww, Mark, are you jealous?” pouted Lisa as she climbed onto Roscoe’s lap and wound her arms around his neck. 

“My dear, how could I not be?” Mark said smoothly to Lisa, not missing the way Roscoe’s grip around her waist tightened at his words. Lisa just looked smug. 

“Now boys, there’s no need to fight over me just because somebody couldn’t get a date,” Lisa said in mock sympathy. Mark’s sultry smile didn’t falter.

“Lisa, Lisa, _darling_ Lisa,” Mark sighed, shaking his head and spreading his hands wide. “As if I would need to bring a date - it’s a wedding! There’s women, wine and song! Women love the romance of finding someone at a wedding, and who would I be to deny them?~”

“Merciful?” James chirped.

There was a thud as Mark’s chair fell onto all four of its legs again, lip curling. “You’re kidding, right?” Mark said dryly. “I’m this city’s definition of a handsome Rogue. I’m the most good-looking guy here!”

“Way to rain on the groom’s parade,” Mick chuckled.

James tucked his hands under his chin and beamed at Mark. “Ahem, tell that to the beautifully tanned and adorably angelic Italian acrobat.”

Mark burst out into a fit of derisive laughter. “Trickster, you may have reformed in the eyes of the law, but you aren’t anywhere near angelic.” James quirked an eyebrow at the Weather Wizard.

“Pretty sure there’s a twice-defeated devil downstairs who might argue otherwise~”

“I don’t think even Neron considers you angelic,” Mark sneered, “just a pain in the-!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably my favourite thing to write is banter between the Rogues :') 
> 
> The dancing will start next chapter~


End file.
